"The joy that flash'd out from thy death-shrouded eyes, That laugh'd in thy dimples, and brighten'd thy cheek, Is quench'd--but the smile on thy pale lip that lies, Now tells of a joy that no language can speak. The fountain is seal'd, the young spirit at rest,-- Oh, why should I mourn thee, my lov'd one--my blest!" The anniversary of that fatal day gave birth to the following lines, with which I will close this long chapter:-- The Early Lost. "The shade of death upon my threshold lay, The sun from thy life's dial had departed; A cloud came down upon thy early day, And left thy hapless mother broken-hearted-- My boy--my boy! "Long weary months have pass'd since that sad day, But naught beguiles my bosom of its sorrow; Since the cold waters took thee for their prey, No smiling hope looks forward to the morrow-- My boy--my boy! "The voice of mirth is silenced in my heart, Thou wert so dearly loved--so fondly cherish'd; I cannot yet believe that we must part,-- That all, save thine immortal soul, has perish'd-- My boy--my boy! "My lovely, laughing, rosy, dimpled, child, I call upon thee, when the sun shines clearest; In the dark lonely night, in accents wild, I breathe thy treasured name, my best and dearest-- My boy--my boy! "The hand of God has press'd me very sore-- Oh, could I clasp thee once more as of yore, And kiss thy glowing cheeks' soft velvet bloom, I would resign thee to the Almighty Giver Without one tear,--would yield thee up for ever, And people with bright forms thy silent tomb. But hope has faded from my heart--and joy Lies buried in thy grave, my darling boy!" CHAPTER II Local Improvements--Sketches of Society "Prophet spirit! rise and say, What in Fancy's glass you see-- A city crown this lonely bay? No dream--a bright reality. Ere half a century has roll'd Its waves of light away, The beauteous vision I behold Shall greet the rosy day; And Belleville view with civic pride Her greatness mirror'd in the tide." S.M.